You Need Me, But I Don't Need You
by battyderp
Summary: Castiel is dead. On the outside, Dean is handling is well. But on the inside, his heart has been ripped to pieces.


_Dear Dean,_

_If you are reading this, I am dead. I don't know how, bit I assume it had something to do with Crowley or Raphael. That's what you get for working with the King of Hell, I suppose. And, though I still believe what I am doing is for the best, I wish you could have had at least a little faith in me, though I gave up the right for that a long time ago. I'm truly sorry. I honestly see how you could call what I was doing wrong or heartless or even evil. If I have done anything between writing this and my death, I apologise profusely in advance. And please – I know that I have lost your trust. But you haven't lost mine. And I hope that doesn't affect the way you see other people now. Trust is just something I am not worthy of._

_When I fell, I thought I had lost it all, but I gained so much more. Because I love you, Dean Winchester. I love every stupid thing about you – your insolence, your lack of respect, your wrath, your unforgiving nature. And you took my heart and ripped it into a million pieces. But I still don't blame you. I deserved everything I got. I'm just sorry it affected you the way it did. I don't ask for your forgiveness. I just ask for you to not feel guilty, about anything – not my death, not a single thing. I suspect you would have done all you possibly could. And you gave me everything that is good about me. You gave me my freedom and taught me so much, and I can never thank you enough. Every moment I spent with you was better than any day of my 3 million years. I just wish you knew this back when I was still alive. But you can't have everything, though, when I was with you and Sam and Bobby, I felt like I did. Like my life was finally complete. So, once again, thank you. I love you, Dean - my best friend, and more of a brother than any Angel in the whole of Heaven. More than I can ever say. _

_There will be one less star in the night sky now that I am gone, but I accept that. I would give anything to be with you just a little longer, but I have already come to terms that I may die trying to achieve this near impossible goal. All I ask is that you try to only think of happy memories when you think back on the time we shared together. Not what I have become or all the shameful things I have done. Just think that I always came when you called, and of all the good times we had. Think of me as a friend, not an enemy. And, as the years go by, please try not to forget me. If you do, that's fine. It might be easier to simply rid your mind of me completely. Just don't try to bring me back. You deserve better._

_I wonder if you will miss me, because I know how I would feel if anything happened to you. My handprint on your shoulder is evidence enough of that. I just hope I did okay when I was still alive. I really tried, know that, Dean. Things weren't easy – we prevented the Apocalypse! But you, your brother and that old drunk helped me through so many hard times._

_Also, please tell Jimmy's family I am sorry for taking him from them, and everything I put them through as a result. I never meant to hurt anyone._

_Love your Guardian Angel forever and always,_

Castiel ~ Angel of Thursday._I will always walk beside you."_

Dean Winchester had been in love before – or at least he thought he had. He had thought that what he had felt for Cassie had been love. She had pushed him away and proven him wrong. Now he hadn't thought of her in over five years. Then he tricked himself into believing Lisa had been the one. He had almost convinced himself; to the extent that he left the family business to live with her for over a year, be a father figure to Ben. And he did care for both of them greatly. He did love them. But there was a difference between loving someone and being _in_ love with someone. Dean had only just begun to realise that.

And when he had made the heartbreaking decision to rid Lisa and Ben's memories of all things Winchester and monster-related, he had had time to reflect on what he could and couldn't live without.

It wasn't like he had much to live for. A rusty 1967 Chevy Impala, a screwed up little brother with a former demon-blood addiction and a pen pal relationship with Lucifer, an old, drunken hillbilly from Sioux Falls and a torn picture of his dead parents stuck inside his father's crumbling journal. But having little to live for meant that you valued what you did have. A rebellious, socially awkward angel in a dirty trench coat with a habit of invading personal space had weaved his way into the eldest brother's dark, fractured heart. He was his best friend; a non-human he had met just years before when he dragged him from Hell had a better relationship with Dean than his own brother, his own flesh and blood that he had known nearly his whole life, did.

But then, just as he had begun to think nothing else could make his life anymore unbearable, the unthinkable had happened. His world had come crashing down around him. Castiel had sided with the king of Hell and had absorbed every soul trapped inside Purgatory. He had claimed himself to be the new God, threatened to destroy them, murdered hundreds of innocent angels and humans and turned his back on his old friends.

Yet he had still come crawling back, fought what was inside him to beg forgiveness from Dean and rid himself of the evil that hung onto him, the evil that was killing him and rotting away at his skin. He knew he would almost certainly die. He did it anyway. He had given up the souls to save them, but the Leviathan had clung on, taking over his body. But taking it over was not all they had done. Dean could have handled that. There could have still been a chance he could have saved his former guardian angel if they had just taken it over. He was fluent in various different exorcisms. But they had destroyed Castiel's body. And now his ragged, bloody overcoat was all he had left of him. All he had to remember him by.

It had been a number of weeks since he had lost him, forever. This time for good - not like the numerous other times he had been brought back from death. But he hadn't just lost his best friend, or his angel. He had lost the love of his life. And Castiel had never known how much he cared for him – not even Dean had known how he felt about him. That dumb saying was true: you don't know what you've got until it's gone.

He had died still believing he was despised and feared by the ones that had given him his freedom. And now Dean had to live with that for the rest of his life. Had to live with just more regret and silent suffering, pushed down into his subconsciousness by alcohol and medication, only to come creeping back when his eyes were closed.

"You're so cute when you're angry," Dean glanced across the table, a smug grin playing at his lips. Then he focused once again on the greasy, double decker hamburger in front of him. There was nothing like fatty diner food to take your mind off things. Sam had gone off just a few moments earlier to use the bathroom, leaving the two alone. Of course, there was nothing between them. No feelings had ever been discussed between the human and the angel.

Opposite him sat Castiel, rigid and looking uncomfortable at being there. His gaze flicked back and forth, instantly snapping back to his hands when one of the other customers saw him looking at them. His bright blue eyes were wide and nervous, forehead creased as he frowned at nothing in particular. "I'm not angry, Dean," he responded softly. Dean saw him swallow stiffly. "I'm concerned,"

The smug look remained on Dean's face as he chewed, eyes shimmering as they caught the artificial glow cast from the dirty ceiling lights above them. "Okay, worry wart. What's got your wings in a twist?"

When Cas looked unsure of what he was asking, Dean added with a small roll of his eyes, "What's on your mind?"

Just then, the angel's eyes snapped upwards. They seemed to stare into Dean's bruised and battered soul. He slowly reached across the table, brushing Dean's t-shirt sleeve away from his shoulder to place his warm palm on the handprint that was burned into the man's skin. It fitted perfectly. Castiel's eyes didn't leave his for a second. The bright, burning determination and honesty that usually shone in his gaze had been replaced with emptiness and confusion, the cerulean blue seeming considerably duller. "Help me, Dean. Just this once," He whispered, voice barely audible over the chatter of the restaurant. "You need to save me. Please don't give up on me,"

…..

Dean was shocked back into the world of the living. He found himself gasping for breath, clutching at thin air. Then his hand closed tightly around something soft and warm. He held onto it for a few seconds, before realising what it was. He tilted his head slightly to see Sam staring back at him, eyebrows tilted upwards in a look of pure sympathy.

As soon as he saw him, he pulled his hand back quickly, letting it fall into his lap. "What the Hell are you staring at, Sammy?" He snapped, shooting daggers at his brother. He glared at him for a minute more before turning to look out the window with a shaky sigh. The sun was just rising, the sky a pale grey and all objects in the distance simple, black silhouettes.

They were parked outside a closed bar in Montana, the only car in the small parking lot. Dean had felt the need to just drive the night before, thinking at the back of his mind that he could run from his troubles like he had tried so many times before. He had needed to escape the confinement of Rufus' safe house, and Sam hadn't allowed his brother to leave without him in his condition, despite Sam getting regular visits from the devil. The eldest brother had then drowned his sorrows in cheap beer and peanuts and, strangest of all, Spanish Soap Operas. He would have added pie to that list, but Sam seemed unable to ever follow through with his promises to buy Dean pie, no matter how many times he asked. All he got instead was cake. Bad cake.

But, since the angel's death, he had never once uttered his name. He had never said how he felt, just worn a fake smile and pretended that he was still alive on the inside. Because, after so many years of lying, it was basic instinct to keep his feelings locked up, away from anyone else's prying eye.

The top of Sam's head brushed the roof of the car as he shrugged. "Nothing," He paused, thinking his words through carefully. He didn't want to rub salt in Dean's wounds before he was ready. "Just… Were you dreaming again?"

"None of your damn business what goes on inside my head,"

Dean turned the keys in the ignition and revved the engine, preparing to speed onto the main road. But the younger brother leaned across and held onto the steering wheel. Dean had to look away, the sight reminding him too much of his dream.

"Should you really be driving?" Sam asked, blinking. He imagined Dean's hangover must have been horrific.

Dean opened his mouth to spit out an insult, but he slowly let his jaws shut. He exhaled through his nose. At the back of his mind, images of Castiel played over and over. The memories were almost too much to bear and he found himself breaking. "What do I care? Why should I worry about dying in a freaking car crash when we've both been brought back from Hell and we've got bloodthirsty Leviathan after us?" Though he tried to keep his voice steady, it came out cracked and unstable, much like himself at the moment. "Both things because of that stupid… That stupid, dead angel. That… Holy tax accountant,"

He shook his head. He had little to no control over what he said – he had been heavily drunk hundreds of time before, so much that he had built up a sort of tolerance to it. But this time was different. This time the pain was greater than any time before, mixed in with powerful liquor. He had thought that losing his father had been hard, that watching his mother burn to death on the ceiling when he was just four years old had been hard. That losing Jo, Ellen, Lisa, Ben and every other person he couldn't save had been hard. But nothing compared to the pain that gripped him now. It was like the Hellhounds were ripping and shredding his flesh all over again, like he was being tortured for thirty years in Hell all over again. It would be enough to drive any normal person insane. But it's hard to drive someone insane when they have so little sanity to start with.

When Sam didn't say anything, he dared a glance up. The younger Winchester looked as though he too felt how Dean was feeling. That just fuelled his rage. He loved his brother. He honestly did. Anyone that knew Dean well would know that he would put the stars in the sky if his baby brother asked him to. He was his life, his everything and the reason he had gotten out of so many terrible situations in the first place. But now, whenever he looked at him, that faint gnawing of resentment stirred in his veins.

It wasn't Sam's fault in any way, and Dean knew that. He shouldn't blame him. But he did. If anyone was to blame, it should be himself. Depending on how you looked at it, when… Castiel… zapped Dean back to 1974, he had sought out his parents. Because of that, he had caused his mother to make the deal with Azazel to save her murdered father. When he had come to collect her end of the deal in 1983, he had given baby Sam his demon blood to turn him into one of his 'special children' and killed Mary. That set of a massive chain reaction – if Mary hadn't been killed, John Winchester wouldn't have taken up hunting to catch Yellow Eyes so he wouldn't have raised his sons the way he had, to shoot anything that went bump at night. If they hadn't become hunters, they wouldn't have met Castiel and all would be dandy. Because of Dean, Castiel had come down to Earth. Because of Dean, Castiel had been killed.

Of course, if they really were _the_ vessels, being hunters or not wouldn't have bothered Michael and Lucifer in the slightest. Even so, any way Dean looked at things, it was his fault. Everything that had ever gone wrong in his life, in everyone's lives, had always been his fault.

But Dean still chose to put the blame on Sammy. Mostly because, after all the things he had seen and done, it had become a necessity for him to blame someone else for his troubles. Sam was, unfortunately, in the wrong place at the wrong time. He tried not to let him see it. Because Sam needed him now more than ever, he needed his big brother. So Dean would wear a fake smile, comfort him whenever he needed it. But on the inside, he could hardly stand the sight of him.

"I know you're upset, Dean—"

Dean raised a hand to cut him off impatiently. "Don't, Sammy," He shook his head, words slurred but still aggressive, "Just don't,"

Sam continued on. "We all are. Cas was family, especially to you. But he wouldn't want you to kill yourself because you were careless enough to drink and drive,"

The shorter Winchester swallowed down anger, his heart beating like he had just run a 5km marathon. His green eyes that had once brimmed with life – granted, not much, but still life – were now hollow and misty, as though a flood of tears was just around the corner. But he had never been one for getting too openly emotional. So once again he forced down the feelings.

"You need to shut up now, dude. I'm not above shooting you in the freakin' head. The Colt can kill anything, and unless you've turned into the fifth Horseman recently, I'm pretty damn sure your name is still on the list," Dean's voice came out gruff and low. He had become an expert on how to not let any emotion into it. "Just let me deal with this my way," When Sam looked ready to protest, he added, "On my own. Please, Sam. That's all I ask. Whine about me to Bobby all you want, just so long as you don't talk about anything related to Upstairs while I'm around," His pleading glare didn't waver as he stared into the depths of his brother's doe eyes that glittered with sadness and the overpowering need to help Dean.

Sam sighed softly and nodded once. "Fine, Dean. Whatever you need,"

"Thank you,"

"Now, can I get us back to Bobby? I, for one, would really love to live another day," He forced a small, uneasy thin half smile.

_Why? What do you have to live for?_ Dean thought bitterly, but pushed the thoughts roughly away as soon as they entered his mind. How could he even think that? Not saying a word, he pushed open the door of the Impala, which swung open with a metallic creak. He slammed it shut behind him, for once not feeling guilty that he had possibly harmed his baby, his prized possession, and half stumbled, half stalked over to where Sam was waiting. He coughed as the exhaust fumes washed over him.

When he tripped and slumped against the side of the car, his brother rushed forward and hooked an arm around Dean's broad shoulders.

"I can walk, I can walk," He hissed, shoving him away irritably, hobbling over and flopping into the passenger seat, narrowly missing hitting his head on the doorframe. He muttered, "I'm not a cripple,"

Sam rolled his eyes affectionately, though his mind was reeling with concern, and made his way over to the driver's side, swinging his long, slender legs under the steering wheel. He pulled out of the bad, rushed park and drove swiftly onto the road. Neither of them said anything more as they drove the long distance back to their makeshift safe house. They shouldn't even have been out in public, in case the Leviathan caught up to them.

Dean pretended to sleep, his head resting against the window, body jiggling as the car hit potholes and speed bumps. But he didn't allow himself to slumber, not even to fully close his eyes. He was too terrified that he might dream of the angel again. Imagine that. Dean Winchester, actually scared of something. Not like he would ever admit it. He still had some dignity.

So he just sat there, eyes half closed and head turned so that Sam couldn't see his face, his chin barely managing not to quiver. And he stared out into the distance, at the brightening sky. At the fading morning stars that he had watched with his brother when they were children, that Castiel had told him stories of. There were so many more stars out in Hicksville than there were in the big cities. And they were beautiful. Dean let out a silent exhale of air, and felt Sam's eyes boring into his back.

But not as beautiful as Castiel. And not just his vessel. Dean could see the beauty in his soul that lay beneath. More beautiful than the whole of Heaven, Hell and Earth combined. Wow. How poetic. He was getting soft with age. Like cheese.


End file.
